


Special

by Clowns_or_Midgets



Series: The Sound Of Silence [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aphasia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mute Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester's Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8350945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clowns_or_Midgets/pseuds/Clowns_or_Midgets
Summary: Sam has a vision and can tell no one





	

Special Children

 

Dean was sitting on the side of the bed, tying his boots, when he heard the thud from the bathroom. He jumped to his feet and pelted out of the room into the hall. “Sam!” he shouted, banging on the door. “Open up!”

He heard movement inside, something sliding across the floor, and then the door unbolted. He flung it open, hitting Sam’s leg. He was kneeling with his arms draped over the sink and his head resting against the side of the basin. Even as Dean watched, his face twisted with pain and a low moan worked out of his throat.

“Sam!” Dean crouched beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Is he okay?” Bobby asked, appearing in the doorway.

“He’s fine. He’s gonna be fine, right, Sam?”

Sam nodded and slowly pushed himself to his feet. He ran water and splashed it over his face, staring at himself in the mirror for a moment and then nodding again. He pushed past Dean and Bobby and ran into the bedroom. When Dean caught up to him, he was buttoning his jeans and shoving his feet into boots.

“Vision?” Dean asked.

Sam didn’t make any gesture as an answer; he just grabbed his gun from the dresser and slung his duffel over his shoulder, which was answer enough for Dean. Whatever Sam had seen, they needed to act fast. He grabbed up his own duffel and followed Sam down the stairs and into the library.

“Where are you going?” Bobby asked.

Dean didn’t reply because he had no clue where they were going. He wouldn’t know until they got there because Sam couldn’t tell him.

Sam dropped his duffel down on the floor and grabbed up a notepad from Bobby’s desk. He scribbled on it for a moment, scrawling what looked like a triangle with a road running through it. He hesitated over the base of the triangle for a moment and then sighed.

Dean picked up the notepad and asked, “Is this what you saw, Sam?”

Sam nodded vigorously.

“This is what we need to find?”

Sam nodded again, a look of exquisite relief on his face.

Bobby peered over Dean’s shoulder. “Doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen. It’s some kind of logo. How are you going to find it?”

“Ash?” Dean asked, and Sam nodded again, looking impatient. 

“Okay. Bobby, can you call Dad for us? Tell him we’re heading to The Roadhouse and to meet us there. If he misses us, we’ll leave word of where we’re going with Ellen.”

“Sure I can,” Bobby said. “But are you sure you don’t want me to come along? We don’t know what Sam saw. You could need all of us on this.”

Dean looked to Sam. “What do you think? Is this going to be a big job?”

Sam considered for a moment and shook his head, laying a hand on his own chest and then Dean’s. “Nah, it’ll be good with just us, but I want Dad to know anyway. Okay, Sam?”

Sam shrugged and made for the door. Dean understood that to mean ‘whatever’. Things between John and Sam had been tense for a couple weeks, ever since the visit to the Roadhouse. John had been asking about healers, and Sam had overheard. Dean didn’t understand Sam’s reaction—Sam had to _want_ to be cured. But Sam had stormed out of the place and then pretended to sleep until they got back to Bobby’s so Dean couldn’t speak to him. For his part, John was just as moody about it. When he’d spoken privately to Dean about it, his argument was that Sam needed to be fixed, and as his father, John wasn’t going to rest until that had happened. Dean understood it, he even agreed. Sam was miserable without his voice and none of the things he wanted from life were going to be possible until he was back to himself again. He just wished John had found a more tactful way to ask Ash about it.

Sam was already sitting in the car when Dean got out to him, drumming his fingers against his knees.

“Okay, Sammy,” he said. “We’re going.”

He climbed in and started the engine. Bobby watched from the porch as they drove out of sight, his cell phone in his hand. Dean was glad he’d got out of there before Bobby got hold of John, because there was a chance their father would want them to stand down until he caught up with them. Dean wouldn’t because Sam obviously couldn’t after whatever it was he’d seen, so it would just cause an argument, and since Sam couldn’t argue for himself, it would be down to Dean.

He pulled onto the road and directed them south, Sam sitting silent but tense beside him.

xXx

Dean had barely pulled the car to a stop before Sam was out and running towards the Roadhouse. Dean cut the engine and hurried out after him. Whatever was happening, it had Sam running to Ash, and to Dean that meant it was all kinds of bad.

Sam tried the door but it was locked and he shoved himself back looking frustrated.

“Calm down,” Dean cautioned, knocking hard on the wooden door. “We’ll fix it, Sam.”

Sam turned a glare on him that plainly said there was no calming down from whatever it was Sam had seen happen. Dean knocked again, harder this time.

There was the sound of bolts disengaging and the opened just enough to reveal Jo’s face. She barely got out a confused sounding, “Dean?” before Sam shoved past her and into the bar.

Dean shrugged helplessly at Jo’s look of shock and followed him in. Ash was sitting at the bar, red-eyed and cradling a mug of coffee in his hands. Sam shook his shoulder and slammed down the drawing he had made at Bobby’s onto the counter.

“What?” Ash asked blearily.

Sam shook his shoulder again.

“Sam? Dean? What’s going on?” Ellen asked, coming in through a door behind the bar.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, “but we need Ash’s help. We need to know where this logo is used.” He glanced at Sam who nodded, looking relived that Dean was stepping up and helping.

“Why?” Ash asked. “What’s the deal?”

Sam turned away and ran a hand through his hair sharply, his frustration obvious.

“We just… need to know,” Dean said feebly.

Ellen’s eyes narrowed but she spoke gently. “Okay. Ash, have a look for us. Do you boys want a coffee or something?”

Sam shook his head curtly, watching Ash carefully as he pulled his laptop over to him from the corner of the bar and started work.

“Please,” Dean said, more out of a need to appear genial than a real want for the drink.

Ellen brought him a mug and he sat down beside Ash and sipped it. He gestured for Sam to join him, but Sam shook his head. He seemed more intent on watching what Ash was doing, brow tight with tension. Whatever he had seen, it was apparently getting down to the wire of the time as he was becoming more and more agitated. Dean would have given almost anything on almost any given day for Sam to be able to talk to him again, but today he needed it more than ever. Someone’s life obviously hung on this vision, and they only had the scantest facts. Sam could and probably did know more that would help, but he couldn’t communicate a word of it.

The door banged open again then, and they all wheeled around to watch as John Winchester strode into the room. Dean sighed with relief at his father’s appearance. The onus was off of him and Sam now that he was here.

He fixed his eyes on Sam as he came forward but Sam looked away. Firmly but not roughly, John gripped his chin and turned his face so he could look him in the eye. “It’s okay, son,” he said. “We’ll take care of it. Okay?”

Sam nodded but he didn’t smile. He was still wound tight.

“What did you see?” John asked.

Sam pointed to the paper beside Ash’s laptop with the logo scrawled on it and shrugged helplessly.

“That’s all?”

Sam shook his head, his eyes desperate as he looked at his father. He’d seen plenty more, but he had no way of telling them what it was.

John took a deep breath. “Okay. Ash, when you’ve tracked that—

“Just give me a minute.” Ash said.

John frowned at the interruption and went on. “Look up nursery fires in ’83 in the same area.”

Ash turned in his seat. “Why the hell would I do that?”

John scowled at him. “Because I’m asking you to.”

Ellen came around the bar and patted Ash’s shoulder. “Just do it, honey. I’m sure John will explain everything once he’s done.”

Ash sighed and went back to his computer. After a minute, he said, “Got it! Blue Ridge Bus Company. Operates in Oklahoma. Small firm that serves Guthrie mainly.”

Sam made for the door, and Dean started to follow, but John called after them. “Hold on, boys. We’re not done here.”

Sam glanced at Dean, shook his head, and walked out of the door. Torn between his father and brother. Dean hesitated for a moment. “Sorry, Dad,” he said, deciding Sam and the vision he’d had were the priority. “You get whatever other information you think we need. We’ll meet you there.”

He could almost feel his father’s anger like a weight on him as he climbed into the car and drove away.

xXx

Dean could feel Sam’s tension growing as they drove closer to Guthrie, until, when they pulled into the city limits, his hands were fisted and shaking. Dean had no idea where they needed to go once they got into town, but Sam made any decision moot by jumping out of the car at a stoplight and running down the sidewalk.

Dean jerked the car into a no waiting zone and jumped out, following him at a run and calling after him.

Sam skirted a heavy man on his cell phone and went into a sports equipment store. Dean got to the door just in time to see Sam yank the fire alarm. Before the sound had even started to blare, Sam was heading out again, grabbing Dean’s arm on the way and leading him to the street. His gaze fixed on the man Dean had seen him skirting before, watching as the man walked up to the door and then frowned when he saw the people streaming out, driven on by the ringing alarm. Sam smiled, looking satisfied and relieved as the man turned and walked back along the street.

“That was it?” Dean asked. “Him?”

Sam nodded.

“And we’ve taken care of it?”

Sam considered for a moment and then shook his head, his eyes fixed on the man they were apparently there for. He was on his cell phone again, with his back to them. Sam started forward and reached for the man, but the man shook him off and turned to cross the road. 

“Sammy, what are you—?” Dean said but cut off quickly as he saw what was happening.

The man was stepping out onto the street, and a bus with the Blue Ridge logo was coming around the corner, fast, too fast. Dean knew what was going to happen before it even started. The man was off the sidewalk and directly in the bus’s path, and Sam was launching himself forward. Dean acted without conscious thought, his instinct to protect Sam eclipsing all else. With an inarticulate cry of his brother’s name, he grabbed Sam’s shoulders and yanked him back. He fell backwards hard onto the sidewalk and Sam landed on top of him, but the weight was there for only a moment before Sam was on his feet and lunging forward again in a desperate attempt to save. It was too late though. Dean had heard the muffled thud through the squealing brakes and he knew the man was dead.

He struggled to his feet, feeling the aches that would turn into bruises from the fall. The bus had come to a halt twenty yards from where it had hit the man, leaving a stream of blood in its wake. Blood that could have been his brother’s if he had acted any slower. He shuddered and his anger ignited. That _could_ have been Sam, would have been Sam if he had been a second later in grabbing him. Sam would have been killed for the sake of that man, crushed and spread across the asphalt.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Sam turned away, looking annoyed.

Dean grabbed his shoulders and shook him roughly. “You could have been killed, do you understand that? You would have been turned into road pizza! Is that what you want?” Sick fear curdled in his gut and when he spoke his voice was practically a whisper. “Is that what you want, Sam?” Sure life had handed him a hell of a knock lately, but was that enough to make Sam feel that death was better? It couldn’t be. Could it?

Sam shook his head curtly and walked away from Dean, making the motion a clear end to their conversation.

Dean followed him, grabbing for his arm, but Sam pulled away from him and got into the car just as Dean’s phone started ringing. Dean knew even before he checked the caller ID who it would be and his answer was gruff. “Dad, tell me you’re close?”

“I’m in town, but I’m on foot,” John said. “What’s wrong?”

Dean didn’t even know where to start with the explanation of what had happened and what he was worried it meant. Even if Sam wasn’t suicidal, he acted without care for his safety when he went after that man, and that was just as bad—just like he had when he’d gone back into that burning building after the demon.

“Dean?” John prompted.

“We missed the save,” Dean admitted. “Whatever Sam saw, we weren’t in time to stop it. Some guy died.”

“Don’t worry about that now, Dean. It’s not over yet. I’m on the corner of Woods Street and Park. Come pick me up and I’ll explain everything.”

Without another word, John ended the call and Dean was left standing alone beside the car. Cops were just starting to appear and a cordon was being set up around the bus and mangled remains of the man that were trapped under a rear tire, but that wasn’t stopping people spilling onto the street and trying to get a look. Dean had seen enough. He got into the car and backed out of the illegal spot, turning the corner onto the road. Sam sat staring out of the window broodingly.

“Dad’s in town,” Dean said, and Sam nodded without looking at him. “We’re going to meet him now. He seems to think the case isn’t over yet. Okay?” Sam nodded again and glanced over at him for a moment. Dean grabbed his arm and held it tighter than was necessary until Sam looked over at him. “And, Sam, that stunt you pulled back there, we’re going to talk about it.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, his message obvious. What exactly did Dean hope they would achieve by talking when he couldn’t join the conversation? The message meant nothing to Dean. He would find out if Sam was being destructive or just damn reckless, and he would make sure the message sunk in that it was the last time he tried something like that. You don’t pull shit like that when you have a family that needs you.

xXx

John was leaning against a corner building when they got to him. He looked pissed already, and that was before Dean shared the news of what Sam had done.

“Boys,” he said as they climbed out of the car and walked towards him.

Sam looked up and down the street, searching for something, and then looked at John.

“Where’s the truck?” Dean asked.

“Some punkass kid took it.”

“You were jacked?” Dean asked incredulously. Not only did Guthrie seem too Mayberry for carjacking, this was John Winchester! He didn’t exactly scream easy target.

“No,” John said impatiently. “I was…talked into it.” When he saw Dean and Sam’s continued confusion, he went on. “It’s mind control. This kid, Andy Gallagher, is one of the psychic children like Sam.”

Sam stepped forward and made a motion with his hand for John to go on speaking.

“More?” John asked, and Sam nodded. “Okay. Well, he had a nursery fire too, night he was six months old, and his mother was killed. He just asked for the truck, and I handed it over like it was the easiest thing in the world. He used words though, so I’m thinking it has to be a vocal command for it to work.”

Sam’s gaze snapped to Dean and he held a hand to his ear, imitating a phone call.

“The dude that died was on the phone,” Dean said. “Yeah. And then again, before the bus…”

Sam nodded.

“What are you talking about?” John asked. “What did you see, Sam?”

Sam gave John a split second’s attention to communicate how dumb a question that was with a glance alone, and then he turned back to Dean looking impatient.

“We need to find him before he speaks to someone else,” Dean said.

John rolled his eyes. “I know that. Why’d you think I’m standing here? The quaint view? Ash tracked down the kid’s last known address as being here. I figure if I hang around long enough, he’ll show up. Now, what happened to you two?”

“When we got into town, Sam saw the guy from his vision on the phone, right?” He glanced at Sam for confirmation and he nodded. “I’m guessing something was supposed to go down in the store, because Sam set the fire alarm off. The man’s phone rang again though, and the next thing we know he’s stepping under a bus.” He hesitated, unsure of whether to tell him about Sam’s attempted save/dive, whichever it was. He could feel Sam’s eyes boring into him, and he knew if he turned he would see Sam communicating a warning to not speak. It was that which made him go on with the tale. “And Sammy almost went under with him.”

“What?” John barked.

Dean looked at Sam and saw he was shaking his head brutally. “Sorry, Sammy,” he said quietly, seeing Sam turn away and throw his arms up in frustration. “Sam went after him, Dad. Only he almost went under. If I hadn’t dragged him back, he’d be dead.”

John was silent for a full minute as he considered. Dean waited for the reaction, and Sam stared pointedly into the opposite direction.

“Sam,” John said in a low tone. “Look at me.” Sam didn’t move. “Sam!” He turned Sam, forcing him to look at him again. “Did you try to…hurt yourself? Is that what you were thinking?”

Sam shook his head, looking determinedly into his father’s eyes.

“Are you sure?”

Sam stepped back out of John’s grip and laid a hand on his own chest then moved it to John’s and then Dean’s, looking sincere as only Sam could.  

“What?”

Dean understood. Sam was trying to communicate that no matter how much his life sucked, and on any given day it had to be hell being without a way to communicate, he would not do that to them.

“You were just being damn reckless?” Dean asked.

Sam rolled his eyes but didn’t dispute the term. He just nodded again and then turned to the other end of the street. Dean had heard it, too. It was the truck and it was coming toward them.

John eased a hand round to the back of his pants where Dean knew his gun would be concealed. Dean checked for his, too, and found it sitting reassuringly in the small of his back.

The truck pulled to a stop and a man got out. For someone who could mind control you into suicide, he was pretty tame looking. He had a hippy air about him, enforced by the beads around his neck, but he didn’t look peaceful now, he looked pissed.

“Andrew Gallagher,” John started, but Andy spoke over him.

“What are you doing here?”

The timbre of his voice wasn’t what Dean expected. It seemed to resonate in his head, compelling him. Before he was even aware of it, he was speaking. “Well, we saw the dude you sent under the bus go down, and we figured we should do something about it.”

“Me? Bus? What?” Andy babbled.

Before Dean could answer, Sam had moved. He’d pulled a short knife out of his back pocket and flipped it open. He grabbed Andy around the back of the neck and pushed the blade up to his throat, forcing him to back step along the street and into an alley, looking terrified. “Let me go!” he said in a squeak.

John called Sam’s name harshly, a warning, but Dean thought he had the right idea. He hurried after them into the dank alley that smelled of vomit and urine—a striking difference to the clean street it led off of. Whoever took care of the town’s image, didn’t care so much about the out of sight places apparently. He grabbed Andy’s arms and held them behind his back, pinning him in place.

“Let me go!” Andy ordered, and Dean’s hands dropped back to his sides without his instruction. Sam held him still though. It was as if he couldn’t hear what Andy was saying, or he wasn’t compelled to obey.

Dean stepped around until he was facing Andy, and John stood on Sam’s other side, they had him effectively trapped between them and the wall. Keeping the knife pressed against Andy’s throat, Sam glanced at Dean with an impatient look that seemed to say, ‘Get on with it then!’ to Dean.

“Why did you kill that man?” Dean asked.

“What man?” Andy asked. “I haven’t killed anyone!”

“Heavy guy, African-American, big ole smile before he got the urge to dive under a bus.”

“But… Doctor Jeffries is dead?” he said sounding stunned.

Dean shrugged. “We didn’t catch his name before he dove under the bus. We would have, but he was busy on the phone getting mind fucked into killing himself.”

“I haven’t killed anyone,” Andy said again. “I swear it.”

Sam shook his head jerkily and turned his eyes on John who looked thoughtful. Dean thought he believed it, too. The kid seemed too genuine and freaked out that the Doc was dead. He didn’t have the cold, hard killer attitude either. He seemed too innocent. Sam, on the other hand, seemed convinced that they had the right man.  

“You had a nursery fire,” John said slowly, stealing a quick look at Sam.

“Yeah, when I was a baby. My mom was killed. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“And your… abilities, when did they start?” John went on without answering.

“About a year ago. It was headaches first, then I realized I could do stuff. I don’t abuse it, I swear, and I didn’t kill anyone.”

Sam’s eyes were hard as he looked at the kid, seeming unconvinced, but at that moment his face crumpled and the knife clattered to the floor as he hand came up to cradle his head.

“Sam!” Dean supported Sam’s shoulders as he staggered back and folded over. He was vaguely aware of Andy starting to speak and John clapping his hand over his mouth in his peripheral vision as he tried to help Sam through whatever it was he was seeing.

“You okay, Sam?” John asked.

Despite the fact he was in obvious agony, Sam nodded and drew a deep breath through his nose.

The vision seemed to last forever, but it couldn’t have been more than a minute before Sam was straightening and making for the end of the alley.

“Sam!” Dean called, running to catch up with him. “What’s going on?”

Sam paused for a moment to turn back and point at John and then Andy.

“Stay here, Dad,” Dean said. “Don’t let him out of your sight. I’ll go with Sam.”

He didn’t stay to see whether John answered or obeyed. He took off running with Sam. They got half a block before the fire engines went screaming past them. Sam made a noise of frustration and raced after them, Dean hot on his heels.

The source of the vision wasn’t hard to find. They merely followed the sirens and lights to a gas station a couple blocks away. And when they were there, they joined the crowd standing around the cordoned off forecourt, trying not to breathe through their noses to avoid the foul stink of roasted human flesh. 

“I heard she set herself on fire,” one woman was saying to another. “Just poured on the gasoline and lit herself up.”

“Why would someone do that?”

“Maybe she was depressed.”

Dean didn’t need to hear anymore. He grabbed Sam’s arm and tugged him away from the crowd. “This is what you saw right?”

Sam nodded dolefully.

“Then it can’t have been Andy. He was with us. He couldn’t have made the call. Sammy, there’s someone else working the town.”

Sam threw his hands up, looking pissed.

“I know. I don’t like it either,” Dean admitted. “But we’ve got to find out who it was.”

Sam’s look clearly said what he couldn’t say with words. ‘How the hell are we supposed to do that?’

xXx

It took some research and assistance from Ash, not to mention Andy breaking them into sealed court records, to discover the woman who had gone up like a candle had been Andy’s birth mom and the doctor who died was the man who had facilitated the adoption and separation of her twin boys.

They were waiting now in the café where Andy’s long lost twin worked, hoping he would show himself. There was nothing else they could do; they’d already been by his apartment and there was no sign of him. Andy didn’t know much about him other than that he had appeared a few months ago and started acting like he was Andy’s best friend.

Now knowing Andy wasn’t the murderous lunatic they’d pegged him as, Dean quite liked him. He was cool in a zany kind of way, and Sam seemed to be warming to him, too. John stayed out of their conversation in favor of looking brooding and looking up and down the street for a sign on Ansem. 

“So, you have death visions?” Andy asked, and Sam nodded. “Man, that sucks.”

Sam smiled slightly.

“And you can’t talk, like at all?”

“He can talk,” Dean interjected. “It’s just the words come out all wrong.”

“Then how the hell do you communicate?”

Sam looked pointedly at Dean.

“We manage all right,” Dean said. “We’re brothers.” He said it confidently, as if that answered all questions. To them, it did.

“Would have been nice to have a brother,” Andy said. “One who wasn’t a homicidal wack job, I mean.”

Sam shrugged and side-eyed Dean, as if to say it wasn’t all good. Dean knew he didn’t mean it, and he was pleased by the levity in his brother, who had been on a downer for weeks.

It was a good moment that was ruined the moment Sam hissed between his teeth and folded over the table. Dean watched helplessly as Sam groaned and moaned his way through a vision, his hand on Sam’s back in a gesture of comfort.

As soon as the vision passed, Sam was in action. He jumped to his feet and grabbed the Impala keys from Dean who had been toying with them in his hands. He ran for the door, yanking it open and sprinting out. Dean ran after him, and threw himself into the passenger side of the car as Sam brought the engine to life. John and Andy threw themselves into the back seats even as Sam roared away from the curb and down the street.

He drove with abandon, running a red light and pushing the car to its limits. It was damn dangerous. If someone stepped out in front of them, they were toast. Sam could never stop in time. They were lucky though. The streets were almost clear of cars and there were no pedestrians. Sam took them out of town and in the direction of the highway. Before they reached it though, Sam slammed them to a stop and jumped out of the car.

Dean sucked in a breath as he saw the object of Sam’s vision. Highlighted against the streetlights illuminating the road, there was a woman. She was higher than them as she was standing on the very edge of the dam. There was a man standing a few feet back from her, and Dean would have bet the Impala that he was Ansem Weems.

“Shit,” Dean breathed.

Sam turned back to them and slapped a hand down on John and Dean’s chests then jabbed a finger down at the road.

“The hell with that,” Dean said. “We’re coming with.”

Sam gripped Andy’s shoulder and jabbed a finger down again.

“You want me to stay?” Andy asked.

Sam shook his head and pointed at John and Dean again.

Andy looked dubious for a moment, but Sam pulled the knife he had held against Andy again, and glowered at him. Andy reeled back and then grimaced. “Okay.” He turned his attention to John and Dean. “Stay here!” he ordered. “Do not follow.”

Dean felt the compulsion on him again, creating a block that stopped him moving forward more than an inch. John seemed to be under the same spell, as he teetered on the balls of his feet. Sam and Andy noticed none of it, as they were already running towards the woman. Dean shouted after them but they didn’t even slow their pace.

“What’s he thinking?” John growled. “The damn kid can’t speak a word and the other’s a damn idiot. How are they going to stop this alone?”

“No idea,” Dean said. “But they’re not on their own.”

He stepped backwards, and was relieved to find he had movement in that direction. He raced to the trunk of the Impala and yanked it open, treating her with less care than he would usually in his haste. He lifted the false bottom and rummaged through the weapons, finding what he was looking for at the very bottom—a sniper rifle.

“Smart,” John said approvingly.

Dean knelt on one knee and raised the gun to look though its scope. He could see the three men clearly and the woman still balanced on the precipice. He lined up the shot on the head of the man he guessed was Ansem, but even as his finger found the trigger and pressed down minutely, Sam stepped into his sights. He cursed and quickly pulled his finger from the trigger, terrified of an accidental fire.

“What’s wrong?” John asked in a whisper.

“Sam’s in the way.”

John cursed.

They watched in silence across the distance for at least a minute, Dean softly begging Sam to move away, and then Dean heard the whisper. At first he thought John had spoken, but then the order became clear and he realized who it was.

 _‘Turn that gun around and point it at Daddy,”_ it whispered.

Dean couldn’t control himself, couldn’t stop it, as he changed the aim to his father’s head.

“Dean?” John’s voice almost quavered.

“I can’t stop it,” Dean moaned.

“Fight it!”

“I can’t.”

_‘Pull the—‘_

The voice cut off abruptly as a gunshot fired. For a moment, Dean thought he had actually done it, killed his father, but John was on his feet, running from him and bellowing Sam’s name. Understanding came with the shout, and Dean threw away the rifle and a cry of his own ripped from him. He pelted towards where he had seen Sam and Andy with Ansem and the woman, his eyes stinging and blurred.

He skidded to a stop when he reached them, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, and sighed with relief as he saw the body on the ground. It wasn’t Sam. The woman was back on the road, shaking with sobs but safe. Sam was pinned by the shoulders by his father, and John was breathing his relief and remonstrating Sam on the same breath.

Sam extricated himself from John’s grip and moved slowly to Andy. He was shaking and the gun was still pointed up. Sam pushed his hands down gently, moving the gun to point at the floor and then he eased it out of Andy’s grip.

Andy turned to look at him, and Sam’s face said what his words could not. ‘It’s over.’


End file.
